“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Just… remember I love you, okay?”
“Clara—”
I end the call before she can say more. My hands are shaking now. I stare at the phone, then punch in my mom’s number, letting it ring. It goes to voicemail.
“Mom, it’s me,” I say, my voice breaking. “I’m okay. Don’t worry. I just… needed time. I’ll call again when I can. I love you.”
I have only a few minutes left. I stare at the phone, considering my options, then type out a message to Eden:Erase your call history. Tell no one I called. Please.I send it to her number, watching the envelope icon blink out.
There’s no time for more. The screen flickers again, battery almost dead. I slip the phone under my pillow.
My heart pounds as I return to the window. For a few moments, I let myself hope—maybe he’s giving me a choice. Or maybe he’s testing me.
When the food tray arrives at lunch, there’s a folded napkin atop the plate.
I look up at the camera in the corner, my voice hoarse but steady. I know he saw me make those calls, but will he do anything about it?
For the first time since I arrived, I don’t feel entirely alone. I don’t quite know what to do with that.
Chapter Eight - Lukyan
I shouldn’t have left the key. Even as I slid it onto the nightstand, I knew it wasn’t a mistake of oversight—it was a mistake of impulse. I wanted to know what she’d do when offered a sliver of freedom.
Would she run, or would she reach for help?
Through the monitors, I watch her find it. The moment she spots the key, something electric moves across her face—cautious hope, suspicion, a flicker of possibility. She tries the door first. Logical. Determined. When it fails, she paces for a few moments, thinking. Then she tries the desk.
When the drawer opens and the old phone comes to life, I feel my own breath slow. She stares at it as if it’s a living thing. I see her thumb move, checking for service. There’s just enough of a signal for a single call. She hesitates, then dials.
I patch in, listening on the encrypted line.
She calls her friend. She doesn’t beg for help or directions. She doesn’t give her location. She says, “I’m safe. Don’t look for me.” Her voice is thin but steady, as if she’s trying to reassure someone else as much as herself.
Clara calls her mother after, and says much of the same thing.
For a long moment, she stands in the middle of the room, phone clutched tight. She makes no move to shout or scream. She simply sits on the bed, silent, staring at her hands. When she finally hides the phone under a pillow, I know she’s waiting for me to come, to demand answers.
I let her wait.
Later, after dinner, I step into the room without knocking. She looks up from the book in her lap, feigning calm. There’s a faint crease at the corner of her mouth, the only sign that she’s bracing for a fight.
I scan the room quickly. The key is gone from the nightstand. The drawer is locked again. The phone’s nowhere in sight. She keeps her arms folded, posture defensive but unbroken.
I close the door behind me, crossing the distance until I stand just inside the edge of her personal space. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t back away.
“You found the key,” I say quietly.
Her gaze hardens, chin tilting up. “Was I supposed to thank you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Maybe you wanted to see if I’d try to escape.”
“You didn’t.”
“No,” she says, voice calm, “I didn’t.”
I let the silence stretch. She refuses to look away, defiance building in her stare.
